


I’m a squirrel, you’re my nut.

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cheating, Deacon is a difficult cynnamon roll, F/M, First Aid, Gunshot Wounds, Improvised Funeral, Sex, Smut, Stealth Failure, yeah let's suck bullets out of people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Winter is coming. I’m going to store you in my cheek, girl.or The Story Of How Deacon Came To Terms With Having A Girlfriend.





	1. Pure unadulterated friendship

“Deacon- it hurts!” she hisses quietly, her skin extremely hot underneath his fingertips “Stay calm, just breathe!” He can feel her pulse accelerating; “Relax – It won’t help you being so tense.”  
“I just got shot! I have _every_ right to be tense!” she snaps. He can’t really blame her: he knows it hurts like hell, but it was just her fault after all.  
He can’t help but smile at the whole situation “What?” he quickly licks his lips, looks around the place “I know this pisses people off, but I had _totally_ told you so.”  
“Yeah, because you sneaky bastard just know how to perfectly wander around the place…" she hisses as she throws her head back with her eyes shut.  
“Sure, let’s annoy the only one around miles that could possibly help us…” he murmurs in that annoyingly mocking, way too high tone for that cigarette-marred voice of his.

He presses on her palm, in an attempt to apply more pressure to the wound. “At this rate, I don’t know how much blood you’ll got left.” “Great-“  
She groans and thuds her head against the desk she’s sitting against: she thought it would have provided enough cover. Clearly, she was wrong.

“This damn place, I swear to God.”

They had been traveling together for a week. _A week._ He was amazed by the quantity of troubles she had put him through in such a short time.  
During those seven days they had shot just way too many people, moved a ship that – really, how did they do it again? - and cleansed the Commonwealth as the Silver Shroud and her trusty sidekick, the Narrator Voice (no, not really: Deacon surely was good at creating the right atmosphere though). And yet, she hadn’t still learnt what stealth should have looked like: she was good at spotting traps, but she always forgot to check if someone was going to backstab her while she disarmed it. And if she was looking out for enemies, she was tripping in her own boots. Let’s face it: she was just plainly bad at it.  
After all, he couldn’t reprove her: she was at least _trying_ to be stealthy. Truth was, a frozen 200 years-old ex-engineer was as stealthy as a drunken mirelurk; and not the nice pretty pet ones – she was like a goddamn Queen walking right in the open every. Single. Time.  
She surely was at least one step ahead of Glory, but her stealth skills? Sadly, they weren’t that much better…

He takes another look at the wound before murmuring with half a grimace on his face “Look, that bullet needs to get out.” “Why? With a couple of stimpacks-“ he shakes his head “Unless you want to start glowing or something…” he exhales deeply, Sole just looks at him waiting for an explanation, her expression getting more worried by the second. “Raiders use anything they can scrap for the bullets: that’s irradiated lead, if you’re lucky. Trust me, you don’t want that inside your body, boss.”  
Sole glances at the gunshot: blood keeps dripping between her fingers. She can’t leave the wound unattended, yet if the stimpack heals her she would have needed to reach DC before taking the bullet out – which meant whatever the bullet was made of would have flooded her blood with rads by the time she reached Doctor Sun.  
She takes in a deep breath, tries to ignore her pulse sloshing against her palm with every beat of her heart. “Alright. Do what you need, but do that quickly.”  
He reaches for his pocket and takes a switchblade out of it: as soon as it clicks open, Sole starts panicking all over again.

“Oh, _hell_ no!” she roars, pushing on her heels to get in a sitting position and almost pushing the desk back with her. “How do you want me to take that out of you?” “I don’t know! It’s been 200 years and you people still insist stabbing gunshot wounds is a good idea?” “Yeah, because we people of the future are soo civilized.” He mocks, almost automatically: he knows it’s better to get her angry at him than leave her anxious about the whole thing.  
“Easy, boss: I have done it plenty of times!” “Deacon, you stick that thing inside of me, and I’ll shoot you.” He crooks his eyebrows, grins at her “You’re not being serious.” She just stares at him, and that icy glare accounts for a million words. “Alright. You are. Fine.” He closes the switchblade and pockets it, looking for the right words to convince her.

“Okay, so… I just know two ways to get this done-”  
“Whatever is the other option, I’ll take it!”  
_-and you wouldn’t like the other one._ he completes in his mind.  
He exhales deeply, licks his lips and slides a hand on her shoulder, hooking his thumb on the hem of her shirt: she was the one asking for it, after all.

He doesn’t make the same mistake again: before she can protest, he pushes her blood soaked shirt away and presses his lips against the wound, sucking as hard as he can. Those raiders had just pipe rifles after all: they weren’t so powerful they could cause deep wounds, so he had a slight chance of sucking the bullet out, although he knew it was still very painful.  
Sole gasps, but Deacon presses his palm against her mouth and muffles her scream: he better than anyone knew it hurt like hell, but there were still ferals around. He stops just to turn his head to the side and spit her blood away.  
“Quiet.” He whispers while looking at her just above his sunglasses: she feebly nods against his palm, and he gets back to work.  
Whenever he sucks she whines, but she’s keeping her lips sealed. At least she was listening to him on this one.  
He feels her fingers clawing at his shirt: she presses her head against his shoulder, just the thin old fabric of his shirt separating his skin and her lips. The hand that isn’t keeping her shirt slides around her waist, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her back.

He can hear her deeply sigh when the bullet clunks against his teeth: he spits it out just like he had done with her blood, and it bounces with a metallic sound on the wooden floor. When he takes a look at her he notices how the arm attached to her wounded shoulder is painfully shacking: he cleans his lips with the back of his palm and silently passes her a stimpack, which she immediately jabs on the portion of skin next to her wound.

He stands up and fishes a bandage roll from the backpack, helping then Sole to her feet. “You need help with that?”  
“No, I can… I think I can manage.” She mumbles as she takes the roll from his hands, giving him a reassuring – albeit exhausted – smile.  
He turns around and takes a couple of steps away from her, skimming the environment: that’s the most privacy he could have given her, though he could still hear her; judging from the sounds and the muttered curses, she was probably stuck in her clothing. That would have been hilarious to watch, but the threat of being shot by her somehow still lurked around.  
Even though he had some mixed feelings admitting it – it had been a while since he had been that close to someone’s breasts. And frankly knowing who Sole was and what she was trying to do made her just more fascinating to his eyes, making the ‘being this close to someone’s neck and not be able to kiss them’ part of the plan all the more difficult.  
It wasn’t the first time he developed a fascination for someone, but he knew he never arrived at something more – he had never had crushes on anyone after the only person he had truly loved was killed.  
He had no problem admitting Sole was special – but the level of specialness needed to truly hit on him was humanly impossible to reach.

He snaps out of his thoughts when she calls for him.  
“Deacon?” “Yes boss.” It’s not even a question: he already knows what she’s going to ask. “Could you…?” “Do what?” Oh, he had a fucking degree in playing dumb, and he loved it. “Deacon.” “Sole.” “Ugh, thinking that I could just let my arm rot and fall off…” he smirks and slightly turns around, giving her the time to cover herself.  
“You always so melodramatic?” she had just tried to raise her shirt, but she still has her wounded arm in the sleeve. No wonder it was too painful to move. “Just when I’m being shot at.” She glances at him over her shoulder, fakes a little smile. “So… always?” Deacon smiles when she puffs exasperatedly. “Just patch me up, you bookworm yahoo.”

He helps her out of the shirt – paying much care not to see anything he wasn’t supposed to.  
“I don’t like insults – but I appreciate the reference. I can tell you won’t be losing brownie points for that.”

She almost jumps when he accidentally bumps his hand against her back: her body is not skinny, but lean. Her skin isn’t marred with the scars that any other person in the Commonwealth would have, yet it isn’t as pristine as when she had first left the vault, some blemishes and moles adorning her pale skin here and there.

She passes him the roll and he starts bandaging her, dragging the bandage across her back and passing it to her again so she can bandage the front – and pass it back to him. He tugs at it from time to time to make sure it is tight enough, and they continued without muttering a word for a couple of minutes before she spoke.

“Are we… good?” he frowns at that question. “Yeah, why?” she sighs, her shoulders raising and lowering with her breathing “I know I look like I’m being whiny, but-“ she stops, realizing there were too many things to be told to make him fully understand her situation. “Let’s just say I am not used to being shot at.”  
The cryogenic vault facility. She hadn’t really told him about it, he had never let on he knew. If he hadn’t seen the place with his eyes, what she was telling would have made little sense.  
He had taken a walk around the place when he knew she wasn’t around: Vault-tec was doing some sick shit down there. Not the worst he had heard of – still… all those people…  
Not talking about it was good for them both: she wouldn’t have gotten more upset and he wouldn’t have been stabbed in the eye with a bobby pin. 

He liked that arrangement, particularly the ‘no-bobby-pin-stabbings’ part. 

“Where did you live?” the history fanatic in him asks. “Here, but… long ago. It’s crazy to explain.” Deacon smirks “Just look at what the Railroad does: we _are_ crazy. I have told many times Dez we should check out the old asylum for new recruits – but does she ever listen to old Dee? Of course not!”  
He hears her snicker, and he’s somehow glad he’s so good at being an idiot.  
“Wait, so this was your first gunshot wound, right? How cute.” He keeps passing her the bandage, their hands clumsily brushing together from time to time. “That’s not the word I’d use for it, but yeah, cute.”  
“Aren’t you happy you’re going to look all tough like the grown-ups?”  
“Deacon?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
And with that, he knew their legendary friendship was officially born.

When they’re finished, she puts on her shirt and armor and they quickly resume traveling, descending to the level of the street.

“Alright, I’ll just say it and be over it: you _might_ be right about the ‘being stealthy’ stuff.”  
He fakes an overly exaggerated shocked expression “You just didn’t say I was right, did you?” she pushes him to the side of the street and keeps walking, but she’s smiling.  
“I’ll need to highlight this day on my diary!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly believe Schmidt is Deacon’s spirit animal.


	2. This is a horrible neighborhood, there are youths everywhere.

It was five in the morning: as dawn lazily outstretched its rays from the horizon Sole closed her door room behind her, leaving a sleeping MacCready peacefully snoring in their bed.  
She hadn’t told anyone what she was planning to do for that day: she was afraid they would have disapproved that she wanted to do that all alone, but she didn’t want anyone else to be around when she would have buried her husband.

She picked a shovel and headed towards the vault, a stash of things she would have needed to get Nate out of the ice ready to be used laying just outside the command room. She had already been in the vault after escaping the first time, but she had never felt a knot forming in her stomach quite like this one.  
Sole dragged the items on the platform and descended inside the ancient structure, trying to muster enough courage to accomplish her task.  
When it clunked to a halt in front of the grid doors, she’s already half panicking. She pushed forward, dragging hammers and pickaxes and whatsoever she was carrying to the cryo pods.  
She had left Nate’s one open the previous night, but her hopes shattered as she saw the ice still enveloping the figure of her late husband.  
She took in another deep breath and started working, pretending it was just another corpse adding to the pile she had witnessed during her trips in the ‘wealth.

She didn’t know how long she had actually worked before she had burst into tears.

“I thought I could have done this, b-but…” she sat in front of him, curling up in a little ball while she tried to brush her tears away. “We didn’t even have the time to properly say goodbye.” She sobbed, recalling those first dreadful moments in the Commonwealth. “I didn’t even have the time to lie to you.” She sobbed again, louder this time, as she looked up at the neutral expression frozen on Nate’s face.

 

MacCready woke in the bed when he felt there wasn’t anyone laying beside him. He yawned and brushed his eyes, skimming the room and looking for Sole.  
“Dawn? Where are you?”  
He sauntered out of the room, still calling her name, but after checking the rest of the house, he realized he was alone in there.  
He fetched his clothes and got out of the house, calling her.  
“Dawn?!”

He made his way towards the bridge, hoping to meet her halfway somewhere around the workshops. Then he thought about the Red Rocket, and then the other side of Sanctuary. In the end, he reached the Eastern fortified border of the city, where a couple of people were patrolling and making sure the turrets worked.

He approached the bald man sitting on a chair a couple of feet away from the turret, his voice more worried than what he meant to. “Hey Deacon!”  
“Mornin’ MacCready!”  
“Have you seen Dawn? I can’t find her anywhere.” The spy shrugged, although he had already in mind a couple of places where she could have gone.  
“Have you checked the Red Rocket? Since she expanded that thing there are a ton of places she could be at.” Mac shook his head. ”I have tried looking for her there-“  
“Look, try again. I’ll go check a couple of other places, with my help, you’ll find her in no time.” He smiled, winking from behind the sunglasses and luckily MacCready listened to him.

Now, Deacon could have told him from the start what was the most obvious place to look, but he knew how Sole was, and if she had really gone to the vault she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to find her there, especially her new boyfriend.

Deacon paced calmly through Sanctuary and towards the vault, and started striding as soon as he was out of sight. He wasn’t that sure she was there, he wasn’t that sure she wanted to be bothered right now, but if it was how he thought it was he bet she could have used someone right now. Strangely enough he felt like he _wanted_ to be that someone, not just because he had to keep her close to the Railroad, but because she was his friend. She was someone so special to get her name on his very very short ‘good people’ list – well, it was actually more like a pamphlet – and if she actually needed someone it was him who had to show up. Period.

 

The platform clunked in motion and closed above his head, slowly but steadily making its way inside the vault. He immediately felt safer with a solid rock roof above his head, though Vaults always left him with a strange feeling of uneasiness, and this one particularly screamed to his sixth sense that what had happened here was wrong; but again, Vault-Tec wasn’t known for being that fair with its customers. And staff. And employers.

He didn’t need to look for long to find her: he just had to follow the sobs.  
He thought about sneaking behind her, hugging her. Telling it was alright, and that he was there for her. But he also knew that wasn’t his place. That it was too close for being his place. He didn’t like feeling so exposed, not even for her.

He instead cleared his throat before approaching, a timid “Boss?” leaving his lips as he paced towards the Overseer’s desk where she was sitting.  
He could tell she was shocked to see him here, immediately trying to stifle her sobs and tears, failing at both. “D-deacon.” She brushed her hand on her face, wiping away new tears streaming down her cheeks.  
He normally would have left her her space, but it felt unfair to leave her crying all alone in here. There were better ways to salute a beloved one than this.

“Fancy meeting here.” He murmured with that shit eating grin of his, rubbing the back of his neck in an almost awkward way, and he immediately saw her sad face crack a little bit, one corner of her mouth raising as she puffed deeply.

“How did you know I was here?” he put his hands on his sides. “Oh, you know I know a lot of things. I’m a time traveler, after all: this is my job.” He slyly poked, on that long discussed argument between the two of them.  
Her eyes narrowed and she puffed lightly, mentally preparing herself to be challenged in an endless argument again. “No you’re not.”

Bam. Hooked so easily.

“Yes I am.” “No you’re not-“ “Yes I am!” “ _No you’re not Dee_ IsweartoGod.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, all the frustration caused by that endless arguing flooding inside her body and partially washing away the pain for a little moment.

Deacon knelt in front of her, seeing she had no intention of raising her gaze to look at him: there’s a moment of silence between them before he spoke again, softer this time. “You didn’t just come here to say goodbye, did you?”  
Her eyes were becoming watery again; she looked at him, new tears forming in the pits of her eyes. “I wanted to bury him. Thing is, burying alone a frozen man of 200 pounds is tough.”  
Her hand had reached for his and he had been holding it, more out of reflex than of conscious thought.

He scolded himself and inhaled sharply as he stood up, patting her head a couple of times before speaking.  
“Now I’ll go back, and fetch the others, and a hot chocolate. You stay here-“ “Dee, I appreciate it, but there’s no need to-“ “Ch-ch-ch-ch-cch,” he pressed his index finger against her mouth, putting too much pressure in what should have been a delicate gesture, pushing her lips almost against the side of her face “you’ll stay here and wait for me to come back. Understood?”  
She rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Fine.” She smiled as he waved and paced back towards the lift, staring at his back as he became more and more distant.

Deacon. What a strange little thing he was; he lived in his own world most of the time, made of ancient knowledge and classic books. Yet he knew more about the Commonwealth than her and all her other friends combined.  
It was strange calling him a friend. He was a liar, but she didn’t mind. Not when he was such good people to have around.  
She remained still, silently waiting for him to come back: he didn’t really want to roam the vault again (that one time right after waking up had been more than enough) and this gave her the time to regain some of her usual composure.  
When she heard the lift coming back down, she somehow felt safer knowing people were coming for her. All because of that mad spy she kept calling friend.

He was the first to get inside the room she was in: he patted her head, handed her the chocolate without muttering a word and silently passed by her side, going towards the cryo cells.

She took a sip of it, and immediately felt better.  
“Dawn!” she placed the mug on the table, stood up and met MacCready halfway, reciprocating his hug.

He tried to reassure her as best he could, but honestly he wasn’t terrifically good at it. After a while, he joined Nick, Deacon and Preston in the cryo pods, while Piper stayed back with her for the whole time, talking with her and reassuring her the way only a big sister knows how to do.  
He heard them bringing the body to the elevator, but she listened to Piper and ignored it. Sole didn’t realize whether they had taken little time or maybe she just needed to talk with someone, but after a short while Nick and Mac came back, telling her they were ready upstairs.

When she arrived back on the surface, she inhaled sharply and headed towards the large hole that had been dug for Nate. Inside there was the corpse of her husband, wrapped tightly in a cover.  
Everyone stepped away, remaining at arm’s length as she gave her last goodbyes.  
Many of them had never seen her jovial character crack. She made people call her Sole because it was easier pretending “Dawn” had never existed rather than dealing with the fact that her whole life was gone.

 

He didn’t know whether the others had understood it, but at that moment Deacon could see the pain in her eyes. She never let on what was happening behind that ever-lasting grumpy smile, and yet she held all those emotions buried deep inside, for all this time.  
Not that he was blaming her for that, but he knew how it felt like and it wasn’t good for her health.

He didn’t know what she was saying, he’s too far away and albeit he could have tried to snoop he somehow knew it was not right: all he noticed was how she was caressing her ring for the whole time she’d been speaking.  
When she’s finished, her eyes looked down at her hand, her lashes softly caressing her cheeks as she removed the ring from her finger and knelt next to the grave, stuffing it between the folds of the blanket.

As MacCready and the others approached her again, he stepped away and discreetly made his way towards the house Sole had told him to stay in: he quickly packed his things and headed West, where fewer people could see him leave the city.  
Rarely people noticed his absence: as used as he was to roaming around a place, it was easy to sneak out of Sanctuary with no one noticing his disappearance, and he had all the time to hunt and trade all the things he needed for his plan to cheer up Sole.

\-----

“Thanks for the party.” The man smiled widely and brushed the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, sure. No problem.” He tapped with his fingers on the table, accurately avoiding her gaze. “Is everything alright?” he looked back at her, his usual cocky expression wordlessly asking why the hell it shouldn’t be.  
“Of course.” He pulled her closer to him and left a chaste kiss on her lips, then leaning his forehead against hers and keeping her close to his body. “Tonight is all for you, sweetheart.”  
She smiled at Mac’s comment but when he walked away she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

She was enjoying the party, but she couldn’t quite understand why MacCready looked like he wanted to hide something from her.  
She sat next to Nick, knowing that if someone had an answer, it was him. “Mac didn’t organize this, did he?”  
Nick patted the side of his nose two times with his forefinger. “Who was it then?” She stared intensely at the synth, but Nick simply shrugged “No, I’m not your man, doll.” “Who, then? C’mon Valentine, give me a name!” she insisted, but the synth closed his eyes and slightly shook his head “Sorry, I promised not to tell.”  
“So you know who it is!!”  
“Oh, I’m an old synth, mylady. This memory chip doesn’t work as it used to.” He murmured, tapping his forehead with his forefinger and rolling his eyes.

She tried talking with others, but she also knew that if someone was lying, there was only one person she had to talk to.

“Nice party.” She murmured as she leant against the wall next to the barbecue, Deacon’s forehead beaded with sweat as he kept flipping pieces of mutated things (which brave people kept calling ‘food’) on the grill.  
“Yeah. MacCready has done one hell of a job.”  
Sole tilted her head and blinked as innocently as possible. “MacCready? Preston told me you did it.” He momentarily panicked for a second at the idea of little angelic naïve Garvey blurting it out just like that, but luckily he saw through her bluff in time. “Who, me?! Nope, boss. I’m just the barbecue man.” He winked at her behind his sunglasses, and Sole somehow got redder than usual.  
Her hands snapped on the collar of his shirt and she pulled him towards her “WHO WAS IT THEN!?” she shouted half a millimeter from his face, the music masking her voice as the party went on in the rest of the house.  
“It _must_ have been you! I asked everyone else, and I know Mac is hiding something!”

“Would it matter if it was me?”  
“Yes!” she pouted, and Deacon lightly shook his head, touching her hands with his to let her go of his shirt.  
“Enjoy the party, boss. You need it.”  
He murmured, undoing the knot of his apron and getting out for a smoke break.

The air was still quite cold, but after standing against the grill for a couple of hours he was cherishing that refreshing February night, and his scalp had cooled down enough to finally put his wig back on.  
The synth sat next to him without as much as muttering a word, the old chair screaking under his weight.  
“Why the awkward silence? Is there something you must tell me?” he suddenly sat straighter on the patio chair and grabbed both armrests, fake dramatic panic in his voice “Were the roaches dry?!”  
The synth quietly chuckled. “It was nice of you to do this.”  
He just hummed in response, shifting his gaze from Nick to the starry night. “Yeah. Whatever.” He took another sip from the bottle.

“She needed something like this after all she’s gone through.” The synth commented as Deacon puffed on his cigarette.  
“She deserves a hella lot more after what she’s gone through.” His eyes widened behind his sunglasses.  
“Damn. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?” he murmured while taking a peek at the empty beer bottle in his hand: maybe five beers in two hours were too much. Just maybe.  
The synth grunted at his side. “You know, you could just behave like any other normal being and talk to her, without constantly being shady.”  
“Me? Shady?” he faked a laugh “I’m _always_ straightforward, Mr Valentine!”  
Nick scoffed again as he stood up. “Have it your way. But as soon as she’ll notice – and you know she will – things might get too complicated to handle.”

Just tell her. Yeah, that was one hell of a plan. Too bad he had no idea how to do that.

He had lied so many times about the cause of him being how he was – one time it was losing his family, the other a band of raiders, another one witnessing synths being killed… it kept the thoughts at bay, constantly lying. And now that he could have told the truth, he almost didn’t remember how.

 

He came back inside the house, grabbed another beer and a piece of deformed cutlery that he immediately baptized “the spork”: he climbed on a chair and clinked the spork against the glass bottle, catching the attention of the people in the house who one by one fell silent, waiting for what he had to say.

“Every day we survive here in the Commonwealth, we cherish life. And tonight, we cherish the ones that are no more with us.” Some gazes shifted from one another in the crowd. “Many people didn’t make it here, tonight. Good people. Family, friends, even strangers we met along the way.”  
He made a pause, let that universal feeling sink in. “We mourn them. We remember them. But we must always remember as well that those special ones are now somewhere better, watching over us. To Nate.” He finished lifting his beer bottle.  
He couldn’t help but look for Dawn’s eyes while he did that: he knew she couldn’t see it behind his sunglasses, but something softened in his gaze when he spotted her sweetly smiling at him, a tiny tear welling up in her eye as she and the rest of the crowd lifted their drinks at the same time.  
“To Nate!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the spork would have been funnier I didn't know it was a real word for you English speakers


	3. I’m Like A Sexual Snowflake

He can hear her shotgun roaring outside of the house. Well, she is alive at the very least.

Deacon grips his sniper rifle tighter in his hands, body sprawled underneath the tattered remains of a wall as he kills the last mutants still roaming the small neighborhood. He had got real close to getting blown up by a missile and he wasn’t looking forward to repeating the experience.

It was astounding how bad things had gone in such a short time: at first, it was just Preston telling them to check out a place that could be used as a settlement. Then a radio signal appeared, of a man with kids asking for help. And just when they had set foot inside the small town a hoard of supermutants jumped out of nowhere and attacked them, and between the mayhem and screams and explosions, Deacon had lost Sole.  
_God I hope she’s still in one piece._ he mumbles undertone, knowing that he would never forgive himself if something happened to her. He shoots down another mutant before pocking his head above the cover and checking one last time. Seeing no one moving, he cautiously gets up and runs back inside the second floor of the house he had sought refuge in, his only thought to find Sole again and make sure she was safe.

Adrenaline is making him panic more that usual, dulling his senses, and he doesn’t notice someone running inside the home while he’s sprinting down the set of stairs. He hears too late the noise of a gun being pointed in his direction: when he turns around the corner, she stops just in time. “Itsmeitsmedontshoot!” Deacon screams as he raises his palms, authentic panic in his voice. Sole stills her whole body, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, lowering the gun with shaky hands.

She closes the distance between the two of them, tears shining at the edges of her eyes along with fear and relief. “Deacon!“ she hugs him tightly against her body, his blood still thumping in his ears as trembling arms reciprocate Sole’s hug. “God, you’re alive…” She sighs against his chest, still not believing they had survived the shooting with all their limbs still attached.  
“We won, right?” he breathes out half-chuckling, still not believing she was – mostly – safe and sound in his arms.  
His lips ghost on her forehead, placing a tender kiss on top of it as his arms wind tighter around her shuddering form.  
They slightly loosen their hug, the little they needed to look at each other.  
“Are you hurt? You…” his eyes skim down her body: her clothes are covered in blood, luckily not hers. He heaves a sigh. “… you don’t look hurt.” His hand slides on the back of her head, sinking between her ebony locks, her eyes meeting his gaze behind the sunglasses: her grey irises are shining, pupils dilated. She’s heavy breathing, tiredly looking up at him, her lips dry, charred, soft.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the adrenaline or one of his old self’s usual bad ideas: he just knows he’s not thinking;  
maybe he doesn’t want to think either.

He simply presses his mouth against hers in a deep, sloppy, not really reciprocated kiss.  
She places her hand on his chest, halfway between pushing him away and lightly grazing his skin with her nails through the thin fabric.  
He steps back, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. He tries to apologize, but that _I’m sorry_ gets stuck in his throat when she pulls him back in another tender kiss, lips massaging against each other’s as he pushes her backwards, until her lower back hits the kitchen counter and his hands trail down on her hips. He grabs her thighs, helping her sitting on top of it, resuming their kiss, unbuckling and unstrapping pieces of her armor and clothes alike, letting them drop one by one on the floor.

He licks her lips, asking for entrance, deepening the kiss as soon as she gives him permission. Her arms wrap around his neck, pressing his body against hers, her warmth seeping through his clothes as his hands finally work open her pants, yanking them down her hips and letting them join the pile of clothes on the floor.  
He opens his eyes to glance at her lustful body for a second before raising his sunglasses on top of his head and pushing her down on the counter with a smirk, lowering himself to kiss her round breasts, the soft skin of her stomach, her navel and hipbone.  
His calloused hands slide down the upper part of her thighs, wrapping around the back of her knees and placing her legs at the sides of his head.  
His mind briefly registers what he’s doing: he pauses, trying to stop himself from going on with it, but she’s so warm and – damn – inviting.  
He looks up at her as he lowers to place a kiss on her lips, his tongue shyly lapping to taste her, slowing circling around her clit, waiting for her to grow impatient and moan and beg.  
“Fuck- Dee—“ he keeps teasing, sometimes with his mouth, sometimes with teeth, but never really getting to it. Her hand is pressing on the back of his head, trying to push him down against her sex. “Deacon.” She murmurs through gritted teeth, that single word being an order in itself. “Yes boss?” crystal clear eyes meet hers and she shyly lowers her eyelids and tilts her head sideways. “Please?”

“Please what?” she presses her lips together in a thin line, lightly nibbling at her lower lip, exhaling deeply “Do you really want me to-“ Sole stops as soon as she spots that signature smug grin appearing on his face: she closes her eyes for a moment, just to crack them open again after a second, just the little she needed to gaze at him.  
“Suck me dry- lick my pussy as if your fucking life depended on it. Wear me down with just your tongue until I’m screaming.”

“You just had to ask.”  
He parts her legs more, sucking and playing with her clit while keeping her thighs spread apart with his hands. She covers her face with her forearm, her cheeks blushing fiercely underneath, making him smile. “M-more…” she whimpers and he’s glad to oblige.  
He shifts a bit lower, lapping at her hole, forcing his tongue inside as one of his hands trails down her hip to replace his mouth on her clit, his other hand cupping the round of her butt and squeezing the soft flesh until she moans again.

“Deacon—I’m going to-“ he sees her back arching as she suppresses a scream, biting hard on her knuckles, pressing on the back of his head to push him against herself as she comes.

He stands up again, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks satisfied at her body messily sprawled on the kitchen counter, lowering his sunglasses again on his nose.  
“You taste great.” He huskily whispers, pulling her by her arm in a sitting position. “Let me show you.” He cups her cheek and deeply kisses her, his free hand winding around her back and pulling her closer to him.  
He knows so far it’s a complete and utter _mistake_ , but now that he has got a taste, he simply can’t bring himself to stop.

“I’m not over with you.” He murmurs against her mouth.  
She hungrily stares at him as he caresses her lower lip with his thumb, lightly pulling down the soft flesh and exposing her teeth. He drags the pad of his forefinger over it, pushing two of his fingers past her lips, feeling her tongue licking and sucking obediently at them until they’re coated with saliva.  
He lowers his hand again between the junction of her legs, pressing his digits inside of her and looking as she furrows her brow and bites at her lips in such a needy way he was sure he couldn’t have ever forgotten even if he wanted to.

He presses his forehead against hers as he pumps slowly his fingers: she licks her lips, cracking her eyes open the little she needed to look at him.  
“Fuck me.” Her hoarse voice demands.  
“Are you su-“ “ _Please, Deeks._ ” she says those words with such a craving tone that it’s enough to erase all the doubts he was having.

He feels her hands slightly brushing against his abdomen, lowering the zip of his jeans. He holds his breath and gulps when her hand slides inside his pants, palming the erection painfully shaping a tent against the denim fabric before freeing it.  
She pushes herself on the edge of the counter, her legs wrapping around his sides as Deacon pulls his fingers out of her, bringing them to his mouth to taste her one more time.  
He drags his hand on her hip, caressing and squeezing the flesh of her butt cheek.

Her arms are again around his shoulders, her lips softly kissing his while she aligns her entrance with his throbbing cock.  
He sinks deep inside of her with a sigh, her inner walls welcoming him in a wet warm bliss as he quickly pushes his whole length inside of her, savoring the surprised gasp escaping her lips.  
“D-deacon!”

She presses herself against him, her soft milky breasts brushing against the flat of his chest as his hands grab her ass and lift her from the counter, quickly turning around and pinning her between his body and the wall, starting a very slow and deep pace, eliciting more and more moans from Sole.

Her hand tries to reach for his sunglasses, but before she can take them off, he grabs her wrist and pushes it against the wall: if there was even the slightest sliver of possibility he could have kept his distance, he was surely gonna take it.

He picks up the pace, Sole’s breasts bouncing with every thrust, her fingers grazing the flat of his shoulder blade before sinking in his skin: he didn’t mind the pain, not when it came with such a lustful casing.  
She’s moaning, he’s moaning, and his brain’s yelling this is one of the most terrible ideas he has ever had - and he knew he was an expert in this field.  
She leaves a trail of sloppy kisses on his mouth and cheekbone as he raises her the little he needed to reach her soft breasts, nibbling lightly at the delicate flesh before circling her nipple with his lips, sucking and teasing until she feels the tension in her belly building up again.

She deliciously screams his name before throwing her head back and closing her eyes, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape as she rides the waves of her orgasm, her inner walls clenching around him rhythmically and dragging him with her over the edge.  
He pulls out as he comes undone, his semen sprawling on the floor as he buries his head in the crook of her neck, lightly biting at her collarbone until the pleasure fades completely.

Both panting, they don’t move for a while, catching their breaths, their forms welcoming and wrapping around one another’s. Deacon needs a while to take in the gravity of this action: he helps her back on her feet, placing her lightly on the ground, and they start dressing up quickly without muttering a word, eyes never crossing each other’s gaze.

There are… things he could have been talking about. He could have started rambling again out of nowhere, lulling the tension back into his perennial inner monologue as they scavenged the houses, but somehow – for the first time in years – he found himself at a loss of words.  
He didn’t like getting this close to the people he knew. He was used to getting to “know better” random strangers in a random bar, since they were usually out of his life as soon as the night was over - many even before that.

Sole? She was a whole different story.  
Moreover, she was a friend’s fiancé. This was an absolute dick move, he scolded himself again, albeit knowing that given the opportunity, he would have done it over and over.  
He glanced back at her, probably realizing too late he didn’t want to lose her. She was probably the only one to truly get along with him in ages, he didn’t want to fuck up the feeble relationship they had.

This is what he keeps thinking as he stares at the back of Sole’s head, who was leaning with her knuckles pressed against the counter on which she had been begging minutes prior.  
She clears her throat. “We should probably check the bunker.” She murmurs, slowly turning around to face him.  
His eyes widen slightly as he realizes she’s giving him a chance: he looks at her and nods, sealing a silent agreement between the two of them.  
“Yes boss.” He says quickly, grabbing his rifle again and putting the sling around his shoulder while getting out of the house alongside her.


End file.
